


Sweet Dreams (are overrated)

by FoxCollector



Series: Love Is Much Worse [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Sex, Debating over the nature of dreams, Dirty Talk, Genjutsu, Implied exhibitionism?, M/M, MadaTobi - Freeform, Mentioned Hashirama, Something is off, Tobirama isn't quite sure what, What is real?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 07:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11573616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxCollector/pseuds/FoxCollector
Summary: “If I were to put you in a genjutsu right now, you and I would experience it intimately – our minds would make it real – we would both have the memory of the event. Who is to say that in 30 years one of us wouldn’t think it really happened?” Madara says. He has moved in closer, his mouth close to Tobirama’s shoulder.“But there would be no physical reality. If in this genjutsu you cut off all my limbs, I would still have them afterwards,” Tobirama argues.In which Madara and Tobirama have a brief debate about the nature of dreams and genjutsus.





	Sweet Dreams (are overrated)

**Author's Note:**

> This is from Tobirama's POV, which I kind of enjoyed writing. I think I should just give up and make this into a series with "Hold Me Down" and "I'll Let You (Ruin My Day)" because I think it fits in as well.
> 
> I weirdly can't stop writing this pairing right now. Ah well. I'm not complaining!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, and thanks for taking the time to read my story!
> 
> Read, enjoy, review!

            Tobirama wakes up to the sensation of Madara watching him. It’s dark in the room, shadows within shadows swim before his eyes but he’d know that presence anywhere.

            He finds his breathing erratic and wonders what he was dreaming.

            Madara’s red eyes follow him as he shifts. Is he using his Sharingan simply to help him see in the dark, or is there something else he wants?

            There is silence between them as Tobirama calms his breathing.

            Finally, Madara speaks, “What is it, I wonder, that you were dreaming about?”

            “I can’t remember,” Tobirama answers curtly. It isn’t a lie. “Do you want something?”

            “I don’t think it was a good dream,” Madara informs him. “You seemed upset.”

            “Did I?” Tobirama asks flatly. He isn’t terribly surprised at the knowledge that Madara has been watching him for some time.

            “You did,” Madara says, even though the question was rhetorical.

            “Well, I can’t remember what it was,” Tobirama says, somewhat petulantly. He wonders if it was Madara’s presence that woke him up.

            “Hm. Do you often forget your dreams?” Madara asks.

            Tobirama is slightly annoyed now. “No. Usually I remember them. Why are you asking? Why do you care? And why are you here?”

            “Interesting,” Madara says, completely ignoring Tobirama’s questions. “What do you usually dream about?”

            There’s a genuine curiosity to the question that throws Tobirama off guard.

            “I don’t know,” Tobirama finds himself answering, “childhood memories. Sometimes I dream about my brothers, sometimes they die. Sometimes my dreams make no sense – like Hashirama opening a bathhouse for the elderly.”

            Madara raises an eyebrow in the darkness, Tobirama can’t see it but he knows the other man well enough to know it’s what he’s doing.

            “Why, what do you dream about?” Tobirama asks.

            “Things my eyes have recorded,” Madara says. “Things Izuna’s eyes have recorded.” _You,_ he doesn’t say, but it’s there anyway. “They aren’t usually good dreams.”

            Tobirama says nothing.

            “Do you ever dream of me?” Madara asks suddenly.

            Tobirama weighs his answer carefully. “Certainly. You were there when I lost some of my family…” He pauses. “You also refused to support Hashirama’s bathhouse.”      

            “Good,” Madara says. He’s silent for a moment. “That’s not what I meant though.”

            “Of course not,” Tobirama says. He sits up.

            “Do you ever yearn for me in your dreams?” Madara asks.

            Tobirama is silent. His silence betrays him.

            “Dreams can bring us peace, or torment. Can you imagine if we could control what we dream? We could live whole other lives in our minds every night,” Madara says.

            Tobirama frowns. “It wouldn’t be real though. Dreams make for distractions, not goals.” He crosses his legs beneath his blankets.

            "Not unlike an illusion, then," Madara says.

            "I suppose," Tobirama says.

            “If I were to put you in a genjutsu right now, you and I would experience it intimately – our minds would make it real – we would both have the memory of the event. Who is to say that in 30 years one of us wouldn’t think it really happened?” Madara says. He has moved in closer, his mouth close to Tobirama’s shoulder.

            “But there would be no physical reality. If in this genjutsu you cut off all my limbs, I would still have them afterwards,” Tobirama argues.

            “But you would know what it would be like to lose them,” Madara says.

            “True, the mind is a powerful thing, but I would still remain physically unaffected,” Tobirama says.

            Madara hums and brings his mouth up to Tobirama’s ear. “And if I fucked you in a genjutsu? Would you remain unaffected then? Or would you become aroused, or perhaps get off on it?”

            His lips brush Tobirama’s ear as he speaks and Tobirama can’t help a shudder.

            “It would be just like it was real,” Madara whispers.

            Tobirama makes a noise. “Doubtful. It wouldn’t be nearly as good.”

            “Are you so sure? Because I see that as a challenge,” Madara says, and there’s an edge to his voice that tells Tobirama he’s doomed.

            “Madara,” he says warily.

            “I’ll make it good,” Madara promises.

            Tobirama has no doubt that if Madara really wants him in a genjutsu he can probably catch him in one. Madara isn’t as good with genjutsu as Izuna was, but then, he has Izuna’s eyes, and Tobirama wonders if he’d be able to break out.

            Madara hasn’t moved, and Tobirama is relieved to know that Madara seems intent on his permission. He doesn’t love the idea, but Madara’s hand ghosts up his side in the dark, and he wonders how bad it could be.

            “Fine,” Tobirama says.

            He feels Madara’s grin against his neck, and the feeling is disconcerting, threatening, it pulls him from the moment and leaves him dangling above the abyss of Madara’s darkness. And he isn’t even in a genjutsu yet. He closes his eyes and hopes for the best.

            When he opens his eyes, he can see red in the darkness. Two pin pricks, a predator’s eyes in the black fabric of his room.

            When the eyes seem to twist around, spiralling around each other in the dark, Tobirama guesses he’s going under. He feels like he’s falling. It’s dark, and there’s a feeling of emptiness, and loneliness, a gap between realities. He could be dreaming.

            When he opens his eyes (when did he close them?) he’s still in his room. But the light is different.

            His window is open, and outside the sky is red, like at dawn or sunset, and it casts his room into an odd red shade. He squints out the window, because the view outside is different. There are no other buildings around, only a long meadow filled with red flowers. Spider lilies. It looks lovely. And unnatural.

            “Do you like it?” Madara asks.

            Tobirama starts. Madara is seated across from him, the two of them in the center of the room as though they had been drinking tea together. There is a teacup before each of them that reflects Tobirama as clearly as if it were real.

            “It’s not terribly creative,” Tobirama says.

            “I didn’t want to scare you by putting us in Hashirama’s bathhouse for the elderly,” Madara says.

            “Wise decision,” Tobirama says. “I suppose sticking to the familiar also makes it more believable.”

            “Naturally,” Madara says. “And if I were trying to fool you, I would have left us in exactly the same situation as reality.”

            “The Lycoris are a nice touch,” Tobirama says, glancing out the window again.

            “I remembered you liked them for some reason,” Madara says with a shrug.

            Tobirama hums. He looks around the room again. It is definitely his room; his futon is folded in the corner and his books line the walls. The titles even look accurate. He notes that Madara is dressed in a black yukata, the collar folded right over left, his hair pinned back into a loose ponytail. It’s barely controlled.

            “Your hair,” he says intelligently.

            “Dead giveaway. I know. It would never really stay like this,” Madara says.

            Tobirama looks down at himself and is relieved to find himself in a blue yukata, the colouring is exquisite, and he wonders if Madara has seen one its like before, if so, he’d like to know where. When he turns his attention back to Madara, the man is smiling.

            “If you try your tea, you’ll find it to your liking,” Madara says.

            “Showing off, I see,” Tobirama says. “I wasn’t aware we came to drink tea.”

            Madara’s eyes darken in what Tobirama recognizes as lust, though it doesn’t look all that different from murderous intent. He doesn’t make a move right away, however.

            “No, indeed,” he says after a moment.

            The tea is gone as though it was never there. That is slightly disconcerting, but Tobirama is aware he’s in a world of Madara’s creation, he expects things to be a little off.

            Now his bed is beneath them, and Madara is much closer to him, although he is aware neither of them moved. He glances down, and purses his lips.

            “Would you prefer it if I went slower? We can go through the hassle of closing your window and setting up your bed,” Madara says. He sounds as though he is gloating. “Or I could take you in the meadow, surrounded by those flowers…”

            There’s a flickering image in Tobirama's mind, of himself spread out in a meadow of red spider lilies under a red sky, naked beneath Madara while ten thousand red hands reach towards them. He isn’t sure if it’s his image or Madara’s.

            “The bed is fine. It’s fine. Just…” Tobirama trails off.

            “Just what? Touch you?” Madara guesses. He has always been good at reading what Tobirama doesn’t say.

            “Yes,” Tobirama breathes.

            When Madara reaches out to him, it feels real. His hand on his cheek has real weight. It’s grounding. When Madara slides his hand down to his throat, it’s hot, and Tobirama leans forward to press their lips together. He moves to thread his hand in Madara’s hair, and grips the ponytail instead. He uses it to his advantage, pulling Madara’s head so he can deepen their kiss. When they break apart, he even feels breathless.

            “Do you want me to get rid of our clothes, or would you rather do things the old-fashioned way?” Madara asks, moving down to Tobirama’s neck to leave marks that won’t be there when he looks for them.

            What the hell. It’s a nice yukata, but it isn’t real anyway. “Get rid of them,” he tells Madara.

            Madara grins against his throat and the red sky throbs. His yukata is gone, and he can tell from where their bodies meet that Madara’s is gone too. Madara pushes at his chest, and he unfolds his legs, clinging to Madara’s shoulder for balance as he is lowered to the bed beneath them. Madara moves between his legs, and it feels so real.

            “The things I could do to you,” Madara breathes against his neck. It’s as much of a threat as a promise and it takes Tobirama’s breath away.

            “Like what?” he asks, pushing his luck.

            Madara pauses briefly, and Tobirama can feel intense satisfaction resonating around them. Madara is already hard against him.

            “We could be anywhere. My room, your brother’s office, the middle of the sea, your favourite dojo, the pond in the Uchiha compound,” Madara says. His fingers work down Tobirama’s chest to tweak already hard nipples and Tobirama’s breath catches.

            “Do you like the idea of being in public? Where we could be caught at any moment…and anyone could see us?” Madara asks.

            “The consequences are a distinct turn off,” Tobirama tells him.

            “Hashirama murdering me is not high on my list either,” Madara says. “But here, we could be on top of the mountain or in the middle of the street. We could be surrounded by an audience, and there would be no consequences.”

            Madara rubs against him gently as he speaks, mouth close to his ear, fingers working on his nipples, and Tobirama is pretty hard already, his hands clutching at Madara’s back, feeling scars as real as anything.

            “An audience is a little much,” Tobirama says. He wraps an arm over Madara’s neck, holding him closer. One of Madara’s hands slides down, gripping his hip, the other slides up, fingers running over his lips.

            “No audience then,” Madara says. “It could be just the two of us. I could bend you over the table in the meeting room, make you come screaming my name. We’d get more done in 10 minutes than an entire week in there with those stuffy bastards.”

            Tobirama snorts. He hooks a leg up, around Madara’s waist, and the pressure, the way it makes them rub together is delicious.

            “I could spread you open on a stage, loosen you with my tongue and my fingers, and make you come like that, under a spotlight. You’d look like that for me, only me,” Madara says.

            Tobirama groans, pulling Madara as close as he can. Madara never talks so much when they’re together, it’s new, but it’s incredibly hot and he isn’t about to complain.

            Madara slides his hand between them, taking their erections in hand, one of them is already slick with pre-come and it makes for a sweet slide.

            “It could be endless. I could make you come again, and again, until you can barely move, and then get you off one more time. Time is meaningless,” Madara says.

            “I want you inside me,” Tobirama groans.

            Madara is nothing if not smooth, and one hand is already sliding down, pulling Tobirama’s thighs open, even while the other grips their lengths. Something seems off. Tobirama almost thinks to complain but Madara’s fingers are slick when they slide between his legs.

            “I could skip this step, you could be ready for me. But I know you like this part,” Madara hums against his throat.

            Tobirama feels himself flush just a touch. There’s something about the way Madara says it that makes him weak in the knees.

            As it is, Madara is brief, hits all Tobirama’s highlights like he’s going down a checklist: that burn when he stretches too quickly, the slight bit of pain when he moves too soon, the faint pressure against his prostate followed by overwhelming pressure and pleasure. It all feels so real, and yet, there’s a haze to the red room that makes Tobirama more than aware that it isn’t.

            When Madara slides in, the feeling is overwhelming. He feels as though all of his senses are on fire. Madara covers him with his body, and Tobirama wraps both legs around his hips, hands catching on his back. Madara braces himself so his mouth is at Tobirama’s ear, and one hand grips at his hip.

            They start up a steady pace in no time, and Tobirama squeezes his eyes shut when Madara slides home to hit him where he wants it on every thrust.

            “I bet you’ll dream about this,” Madara says. “And you’ll wake up aching for me. What will you do then? Touch yourself in the dark? Your own hands sliding down your body…” The hand on Tobirama’s hip moves to pull one of his hands off Madara’s back, sliding it to where Tobirama’s erection is straining, trapped between them. Madara wraps Tobirama’s hand around his erection, covering it and moving their hands together.

            “Or would you come to me? Steal in in the dark and beg me to fuck you. I would. You know I would,” Madara murmurs, his breath hot on Tobirama’s skin.

            Tobirama gasps out a moan. Madara’s words, their hands squeezing his cock, the feeling of Madara inside him, it’s too much, and he’s sure he would have come already if it were real.

            “Like that,” Madara says. “I wanna hear you.”

            Tobirama rewards him with another moan. He turns his head to the side, allowing Madara to suck a bruise just behind his ear.

            His room is so red it makes him think of Madara’s burning Sharingan, and it’s hot, so hot. He catches sight of his books to the side, and idly remarks that all their titles are wrong. _Bleeding Dead. The Eternal Dream. Shisei no Koe. The Five Tasks. Don’t Trust Me. Monster._ He has never seen books with those titles before. He doesn’t have time to dwell because Madara uses their hands to twist just at the head of his erection and it drives him crazy.

            “Ah, please,” he says it quietly, but he knows Madara hears him.

            “You want to come?” Madara says. “Ask nicely.”

            Tobirama rankles slightly. He’s already conceded enough to say please. He doesn’t want to beg.

            Madara seems to feel his reluctance.

            “What does it matter?” Madara asks. He thrusts in roughly and Tobirama can feel every inch. “It’s not real.”

            And Madara has him there. It isn’t real, it doesn’t matter if he begs until he’s blue in the face. But it _does_ matter, because they will both always know. It happened. But it didn’t happen. The feel of Madara’s smirk at his throat is dizzying.

            Tobirama makes a frustrated sound. Everything is ramping up in intensity; he feels as though he could burst, but he can’t. Not unless Madara lets him. The room is buzzing and Tobirama thinks there’s a single Lycoris flower growing by the books.

            He grits his teeth. “Please,” he says again.

            “Come on,” Madara goads. “Beg for it.”

            He doesn’t want to, but it’s oh so good and he wants so badly to come… All he has to do is say a few words…

            Fuck. “Madara, please.” When he says it this time it sounds a bit desperate.

            Madara groans.

            “Please, please, please. Let me come. Let me – for you. Please.” And now the words won’t stop coming until he bites his tongue.

            “God yes.” Madara groans again and bites him.

            There’s a shift in the air, and Tobirama finds his pleasure peaking. His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears he can’t hear himself saying Madara’s name when he comes all over their chests. He can feel Madara come inside him, and even that feels real. Now the air in the room is settling down, growing cooler as though the warmth were being sucked out through the open window.

            “You’ve made your point,” Tobirama breathes after a moment.

            “Don’t want to stick around?” Madara taunts.

            “No,” Tobirama says. He threads a hand idly through the ends of Madara’s hair where it’s splayed across Madara’s broad back like the long legs of a spider. Over in the corner, there is a patch of Lycoris growing around a stack of books. Every single one is called _Get It Right_.

            “Very well,” Madara says.

            The world falls out from beneath Tobirama.

            Suddenly it’s dark again. Madara is still looking at him with his Sharingan and it makes Tobirama briefly wonder if he isn’t trapped in an endless illusion. He is aware that he is hard though.

            Madara chuckles. “I see you have a similar problem.” He brings Tobirama’s hand in the darkness to rest on the obvious bulge in his own pants. “But you see? We’re not exactly unaffected.”

            Tobirama turns away, pulls his hand back to himself.

            “You’re unhappy,” Madara observes.

            “No, I’m…” Tobirama begins. He doesn’t know how to end it.

            Madara takes his chin and turns him to face him. Tobirama is suddenly uncomfortable with how dark it is in his room. If Madara’s Sharingan wasn’t active, he wouldn’t be able to see him. He can sense him, sure, but Madara is someone to keep an eye on.

            “It’s a bit childish,” Madara says. He leans in and presses their lips together. The kiss is hot and dark. Makes Tobirama think of red. It’s sweet in a way that their kisses in the genjutsu weren’t.

            “To get mad just because you’re wrong,” Madara says, and it takes Tobirama a second to put the two things together.

            “I’m not angry. And I’m not wrong. Not exactly,” says Tobirama.

            “Agree to disagree then,” Madara says. He leans in again, and this time Tobirama reciprocates fully.

            It’s slow, and lazy, their bodies heavy as they move together. Tobirama’s sleep yukata is thrown open, but not off, Madara only shoves his pants down far enough to get his cock out. Tobirama climbs into Madara’s lap where they sit on his bed. Ordinarily he’d be content to simply take them both in his hand and bring them off like that, but he has something to prove and he wants to really feel Madara inside him.

            They go painfully slow, and they’re almost dead silent apart from small gasps and groans but it’s good, and it makes Tobirama dizzy when he comes.

            Madara stays the night. It doesn’t surprise Tobirama. If Madara is as dead tired as he is, he’s more than welcome to stay. Provided Hashirama doesn’t perform one of his patented “Brotherly Awakenings” (and honestly, Hashirama is almost never up before Tobirama) then it’s all fine.

            Tobirama fits himself against Madara’s side, resting his head on his chest, he feels oddly like he’s missing something. He draws on Madara’s chest with one finger, allowing Madara to toy with his hair lazily.

            “Why this interest in dreams?” Tobirama asks. He idly writes his name on Madara’s skin. Then draws a snake, and then holly leaves, and then Lycoris.

            Madara takes a long time to answer, his movements are heavy.

            “No interest. I simply wondered what it might be like to control one’s dreams. To have a dream better than reality,” Madara says.

            “Hmm. Your genjutsu was decent, by the way. I just prefer the real thing,” Tobirama says.

            “Decent.” Madara scoffs. “Even though, while you were in it, it felt real?”

            “Even though,” Tobirama agrees. He hesitates. There’s something he wants to say. Something he wants to ask. Something he wants to remember. Throbbing red, spider lilies, _Get It Right_ , one heartbeat. He can’t remember.

            “Go to sleep,” Madara says. “Dream about me.”

            It’s said as a joke, he pokes Tobirama in the ribs when he says it, and even though Tobirama scoffs and flicks him back, he does.

            He does dream about Madara. He can’t remember much about the dream.

            Just a feeling like he’s drowning, and black and red and Madara.


End file.
